


Drawing a Line

by maybe_maye



Category: GLOW (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-08-20 23:29:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20236168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maybe_maye/pseuds/maybe_maye
Summary: Sam knows Ruth is dating Russell. He knows she's drawn some sort of line in the sand that they can't cross. But it's hard not to when she seems to cross it herself every other day.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Aw shit here we go again, aka time for me to rewrite the whole season as a Sam POV fic to help me sort through emotions
> 
> I struggled to start this because I had a really hard time with writing the kiss scene and aftermath in another fic. Also Sam and Ruth have way less small moments together this season. So this will be like my other "Sam POV" fic in that it follows the canon timeline and events but I’m going to be throwing in “missing scenes” and focusing less on the canon scenes. Additionally this isn’t gonna be one big chapter since I’m not sure how far I want to go into each episode. For now it's a collection of moments between the two of them. 
> 
> TLDR: Sam and Ruth being dumb and flirty in season 3

The first few weeks in Vegas are a blur. The set is replicated, the show tightened, and the strip explored. The girls are out late every night and Sam fights to avoid his own vices at every turn.

So far he’s done fairly well. No gambling, no drugs, and no hookers. Smoking and drinking are another story. He tries to work out every day and he tries not to think about Ruth. 

This is significantly harder to do when all anyone is talking about is Ruth’s fuck up with the astronauts. And when he has to work with her every day. 

He remembers watching Ruth see Sin City for the first time. When the bus had finally gotten near the city, he had swapped seats with Ruth, letting her have the better view. Her eyes had widened and she pressed against the window to better see the bright lights.

Sam had felt that familiar pang in his heart as she turned to look at him with excitement etched in her face, tried to push down the part of him screaming that this was what love feels like. 

Ruth isn't starring starry-eyed at the city lights or at him right now though. Now she's blinking bleary-eyed at the spotlights as they do a half-assed run through the show. He frowns, wishing he knew what to say to her. It’s not every day you jokingly disparage astronauts on national TV as they plummet to their terrible, fiery deaths. 

Her day doesn’t seem to be improving as she gets stuck on the zipline and the fire alarm starts blaring moments later.

Sam knows it’s not funny but he can’t help but smile a little bit as she spins in slow circles from the ceiling. Ruth’s face scrunches up in frustration and she gives him a long-suffering look. 

"You okay?" 

She throws her arms up in disbelief and gestures wordlessly to her predicament. 

Giving in and chuckling a little bit, he goes to help Cherry get a ladder and get her down, the other girls having long since fled the theater.

* * *

They have been standing outside for ages already, alarm still blaring. They have a lot to do before the show tonight, that is if they even do the show.

Sam feels a headache coming on. 

He fumbles for a cigarette to stave it off and wanders to a quieter spot away from the crowd of disgruntled casino workers. 

Ruth follows him over to where he leans against a pillar, lit cigarette in hand. He flicks it towards her and ashes scatter around them. 

“Be careful, you don’t want to start another fire.” 

“Fuck off.” Sam retorts with no real heat. He offers her a drag before taking her pinched face as a no. “How’s it going?”

“Oh it’s great, I’m fantastic.” Ruth deadpans while shivering. “And freezing.”

Sam looks around. The other girls are far away and Bash is nowhere to be found. He shrugs off his sweater, now clad only in his white t-shirt, and hands it to Ruth.

She stares at the offering with wide eyes and flushed cheeks. 

“Oh no, Sam, I couldn’t, it’s fine. You’ll be cold and…” Ruth stumbles over her words, “I don’t want to somehow mess up the costume or my hair and..” 

Sam cuts her off by shoving the sweater over her head, grinning as her head pops through the hole with a frown. 

“Jesus Christ, relax it’s a sweater not a wedding ring, just finish putting the damn thing on and stop coming up with excuses.” 

Ruth gives a half-hearted grumble but acquiesces, tugging the old sweater on. It hangs well past her butt and bunches at the wrists.

She looks cute.

Even if the sweater is lumpy over the poofy shoulders of the wedding leotard and clashes terribly with her hairpiece. 

“Better?” Ruth doesn’t reply, seemingly staring at his now bare arms. “What? I’m not cold.” He protests to what he assumes is her silent question, crossing his arms defensively (also because he is a tiny bit cold). She flushes again. 

“No, I uh, have you been working out?” The question comes out quick and it's clear from Ruth's expression she didn't mean to ask it.

Raising an eyebrow, Sam takes another drag of his cigarette. “Maybe.” 

Of course he has been but he didn't think she'd notice, much less comment on it. 

He lets her suffer for another moment. 

“Like what you see?” It’s mostly meant as a joke, but Sam can’t help and try to tiptoe across the line they’ve drawn between them. That she’s drawn. 

“No!” Ruth huffs, “Not that you look bad per say, it’s just I wouldn’t look for that, with you, I mean with anyone! I’m with Russell.” 

She wrings her hands and looks up at the sky as if that will somehow save her from the conversation. 

“Trust me I know, you bring it up enough.” As if Sam could forget about Russell. He’s Ruth’s favorite way of ruining the mood. 

Anytime she forgets herself around him, she dashes off with some excuse about calling him or sending him a postcard or just reminds Sam of his general existence.

Sam wonders if was for his benefit or hers. 

He’s debating asking when Ruth is saved by the alarm turning off and the call for everyone to go back inside.

Stripping off the sweater and tossing it back at Sam with a muttered thanks, she hurries back to the other girls.

Sam takes his time going back in, letting the crowd get ahead of him as he finishes off his cigarette, stamping it out beneath his shoe.

He beelines for the theater once inside to avoid the call of free chips. Once he starts gambling, he knows he won't be able to stop. And he's not that impressed by the offering of a single fucking chip. 

On the small set of steps outside their theater, Debbie runs up clutching a tray full of chips. 

Sam barely catches what she says before agreeing to continue working on the last cues of the show as the girls take a break to gamble with Sandy’s offering. 

Ruth starts tagging along, following him almost automatically. He surprised she's so willing to be alone with him after her comments less then fifteen minutes ago. Then again, Ruth is fucking terrible at balancing their weird relationship.

She's half way up the steps before Debbie calls her back.

She looks between them, biting her lip before following after the other girls. Sam sighs and heads back in alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah idk what this is, guess we'll see where it goes


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *slaps hood of fic* oh baby this fic can fit so many cliches!
> 
> still don't know what this is! enjoy either way!

Sam turns off the mic, pleased with how his pep talk for the girls went. He wonders absently what Ruth thought of it, if she’ll have notes for him. He wouldn’t be surprised if she did.

He wanders out to the main room as people start to stream into the theater and take their seats.

Bash catches up to him and he’s being introduced to Bernie Rubenstein.

He asks Sandy who he is to her, her husband or grandfather and hopes desperately that its not what people want to ask when he’s with Ruth in public. Their relationship isn’t the same nor is their age gap but it’s a sobering thought either way.

He told Sandy he wouldn’t be watching and it’s the truth but it doesn’t stop him from listening from the bar right outside. He can see the show behind closed eyes, mouth every line.

If he slips back into the theater at certain points, it’s not because of Ruth. He’s just making sure the show goes well. At least that’s what he’d say if anyone asked.

He’s past the point of lying to Ruth or himself though. She’s known for months how he feels about her, she has to know. Besides the dance at the prom, it was clear how he felt.

How could it not be?

He saw her first thing in the morning, when she opened her door to catch him on the way to breakfast. Sam knew what he looked like when he looked at her, how he sounded when he spoke to her.

How he hovered by her as she methodically picked her way through the buffet, always remembering to get her a hot chocolate because she wasn’t able to stomach coffee.

Well it was tea if they were working or she was perky when she left her room, hair already styled and clothes ready to go. If it was the weekend or she was still sleepy and in sleep mused clothes, Sam knew she wanted hot chocolate.

He saw her during the day as they rehearsed, as he directed and she interjected, always willing to correct him. They traded barbs and referenced obscure movies that made everyone else roll their eyes. He paid extra attention to her matches, always ready with a smile or an eye roll when she inevitably looked up towards his seat when she was done.

It was funny, how she seemed to be so confident and egotistical but also so desperate for anyone's approval. Sam was the same.

They ended the night together most of the time, parting only to go bed . A quiet “Well, ‘Night Sam” and shy smile followed him to bed most days.

He would lie in bed staring at the ceiling and tell himself not to hope. That she couldn’t possibly share his feelings, that she made that clear when she slept with Russell to get away from him.

And then the next day would come and Sam would be at a loss to explain her actions.

Ruth draws the line for their relationship and redraws it everyday.

Sam can’t always touch her, she sometimes stiffens if he clasps a hand on her shoulder or their fingers brush when passing a script.

There was the one memorable time he brushed her hair out her eyes when going over notes late at night.

She blushed prettily and give him her best doe-eyed look and his heart had stuttered before she paled and hastily gathered her things, wishing him goodnight and running off to bed.

But apparently she can touch him. A hand on his arm when explaining a new idea, brushing up against his chest when walking backstage or huddling around the table with the others.

The light touch of her fingers across his back when he wore one of his old sweaters and she teased him for it.

When they’d bump into each other on his way back from the gym and her eyes would flicker across his chest and arms.

How she would sometimes stare at him, eyes bright and expression open and they wouldn’t speak for a moment or two before one of them eventually broke the gaze, clearing their throat or changing the subject.

Sam didn’t think she was trying to torture him or be unfaithful to Russell. She was just a fucking oblivious nightmare.

Shaking the thoughts from his head, Sam tries to focus on the rest of the match, just about catching “Zoya” prancing about the ring, declaring everyone a sissy.

When Ruth finally rolls out of the ring, Zoya defeated for the night, she zips behind the curtain to watch the rest of the show. She smiles brightly and bounces excitedly from her spot, peering out at the crowd.

Sam catches her eye and she gives him a little wave, gesturing wildly to the lively audience. He raises his glass of whiskey to her in acknowledgment before slipping back out to the bar.

* * *

The show went fine for an opening night. An air of sobriety still lingers from the days events but nothing goes terribly wrong. Rhonda is even able to get the space theme under control, thank fucking god.

Before they know it, they’re all trudging back to their rooms to get ready for the party, the elevator full before everyone can get on.

“I’ll hang back.” Sam offers as the girls crowd on, loud and rambunctious. Ruth looks back at him and hesitates before getting off the lift.

“I’ll keep you company.” She smiles a little nervously and stands beside him as the doors close with a ding. She inhales and Sam cuts her off.

“If you’re just going to give me notes on the performance, I don’t want to hear it right now.” He grumbles. Ruth laughs a little breathlessly and hip checks him.

“I’m not that bad.”

“Yes you are.” It comes out terribly fond and they smile at each other.

“Well you didn’t even watch the whole show! You’ll need notes to know what to improve.” She protests, nudging him with her elbow.

“What’s there to see? I’ve seen it all before, a million times. And if anything goes badly then you can tell me.” He pauses. “_The next day_. After I’ve had some coffee.”

Sam can’t get a read on her today. She's already touched him twice in the last minute and the rest of the night is still looming ahead of them.

His fingers itch for another cigarette,

The ding of the elevator interrupts whatever Ruth was going to say next. Sam gestures for Ruth to go first and they’re silent as the floors whizz by.

“You’re coming tonight, right?” She asks suddenly, “To the party?”

“Course I am, it’s opening night. Got a tux and everything.”

“Oh so you’ll come to the party but not the show?” Ruth teases.

“Yep.”

“Figures.” Ruth laughs as the elevator opens at their floor. “Guess I’ll see you then.” It’s flirtatious and she’s all smiles before it catches up to her.

Timid again, she’s opening her door and quickly darting inside before either can say anything else.

Sighing, Sam unlocks his own door and starts mentally preparing.

* * *

“Woah.” Sam breathes when he catches sight of Ruth. She’s in an uncharacteristically slinky gold dress that barely covers anything. ”Holy shit.”

She laughs at his expression.

He spares a moment of mourning for his own droopy bow tie and wishes he had put a little more effort in. Sam doesn’t want to think about what he looks like next to her. Not before he’s had another drink.

“Really? It’s okay?” Ruth asks, adjusting the straps. “Sheila got it for me at the lost-and-found.”

“And you ruined it.” Sam grumbles, half-kidding as he uses it as a reason to keep staring at her. “I mean, I don’t need to know that. Now I’m thinking about how it got there.”

Ruth compliments him anyway and he invites her in for a drink, wanting a moment alone before they descend into the madness of a party in Vegas.

He can tell from her face that he’s said it the wrong way, somehow worded it in a way that crossed whatever boundary she had put up for the night. Sam brushes it off and quips about a card. He did actually get the card but he’s too chicken shit to give it to her.

They talk about the challenger without talking about it. He gives her a drink to make her relax and forget about the day. Not because of any nefarious schemes on his part. He tells her about his movie and she tells him about her dad.

They don’t often talk about their families and he appreciates the insight into her life, the moment between them serious for once. No flirting or sarcasm.

“We’re still here.” He offers and she still falters, attempting to cut the tension he didn’t even mean to cause.

Sam doesn’t miss the questioning look from Debbie when they step out into the hall, the way her eyes flicker between them and her expression freezes before she quips.

He plays it cool and jokes back as they call and board the elevator. He can’t resist swaying into Ruth’s space a little bit as the doors close.

* * *

The party has been in full swing for 2 hours now and Sam’s getting too fucking old for this shit.

He’s escaped to one of the small balconies overlooking the city and is letting the cool air clear his head as he debates if he can leave yet.

“You going to sit here by yourself all night?” Ruth interrupts Sam's thoughts, appearing at his elbow. “Nice spot, the balcony. Very dramatic.” She nods approvingly, taking in their surroundings.

“Well you know me.” Sam takes a swig of his drink, not moving from his perch against the railing.

“Yes I do and you’re very dramatic.” Ruth takes a sip of her own drink. “I’m tired of pretending to listen to people talking.” She downs the rest of the drink and slumps against the wall.

"I'm tired of dancing." Groaning, she bends down and massages one of her ankles. “And I’m tired of these heels.”

She slips them off with a sigh, letting them dangle from her fingers for a moment before they hit the floor with a thud. Sam spares her a glance.

Ruth’s face is flushed from the hot room and drinking, the borrowed (stolen?) dress falling off one shoulder. Her hair has gotten gradually messier as the night continues, starting to frizz out of its carefully styled shape as she lolls her head from side to side.

Sam thinks she still looks beautiful albeit a little harried.

“Well don’t expect me to hold them for you.” He sniffs, nudging her bare foot with his own.

She turns to face the city, the lights dancing across her face.

“Did you ever think we’d end up here? The show I mean.”

“In Vegas? No. Figured we were a fucked pilot from the get go. I only picked this up to get on Bash’s good side for my next movie.”

“I know, I just mean. Well you’re a director.”

“Well I like to think I am.” Sam snarks as she plucks his drink out of his hand and sniffs it.

“If we’re doing the same show each night, what are you going to direct?”

“Gee thanks Ruth, do you want me to get fired?” Ruth takes a small sip of her stolen drink before replying, batting away Sam's attempts to take it back.

“Of course not! I was only going to say you might try, I don’t know, writing again?”

“Yeah maybe.” Sam sighs. “ I don’t know. Haven’t got many ideas yet.”

“Will you let me read it?”

“It doesn’t even exist yet Ruth!” She’s handing him back the glass, clearly not liking his choice of whiskey.

“Well when it does! I miss acting. We can’t do new storylines and I’m itching for something new to dive into. Oh maybe we can all read a play, something classic you know? Like _A Streetcar Named Desire_!”

“You’re such a theater nerd. If you start yelling ‘Stella’, I’m leaving.”

“So! You’re a.. you’re a film nerd! You were in AV club!” She sticks her finger in his face as though she’s uncovered some great secret.

“Oh I bet you were real cool in high school.”

“I’ll have you know I was president of the debate team.”

“I’m not surprised.” Sam grins. “Those poor kids, being forced to listen to you. I really feel their pain.”

She gasps in mock outrage but they’ve reached a point in their ribbing where he knows she’s not offended, that’s he not being an asshole to be an asshole. He’s just being Sam.

“I bet we would have been friends. You would have made all these little movies and needed an actress.” She strikes a dramatic pose against the railing, fluttering her eyelashes at him.

“I think you’re a little drunk Ruthie.” Sam chuckles when she falls into his side. Her fingers play over his chest where he unbuttoned his shirt.

“What year did you graduate high school Sam?” Ruth asks instead, tightening her grip on him. “I graduated in 1969.”

Sam feels a chill run down his spine and he breaks free of Ruth’s hold.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He looks at Ruth, really looks at her and sees the glassy eyes and flushed cheeks for what they are.

“Nothing. I was just wondering. You know.” She trails off, stumbling a little.

“Fuck.” Sam curses. “You’re too much you know that?”

He wants to leave her, to go to his room and get lost in other vices, forget that she’s prying for his exact age with absolutely zero subtlety. Probably weighing the difference between 45 and 50 in her head.

But he can’t leave her by herself. He also can’t exactly tuck her into bed. Instead he gathers her under his arm, grabbing her shoes at the last second. 

"Sam, I'm fine!" She complains when he puts his arm around her. "I haven't had that much to drink." 

"Sure you haven't." He agrees when she seems to give up and let him lead her off the balcony. The night seems to be catching up to her as she slumps a little more in his arms and stops talking. 

Sam half carries Ruth back into the main part of the party, scanning the crowd for another GLOW girl, his efforts hindered by his own alcoholic consumption. The music is blaring and lights are spinning as the crowds dance and shout. Sam tries to ignore the table full of people doing lines of coke next to them. He notes absently that none of them are his girls, thankfully. 

He's a little less thankful when minutes pass and he still can't track down someone they know.

“You know Russell was supposed to come tonight.” Ruth slurs from somewhere by his right elbow.

“Oh was he? That’s great.” Sam finally spots Sheila, sitting in a corner and looking wonderfully sober.

“At first I wanted him to come because you know, the spaceship and the sex thing but I think it’s good he didn’t?” She trails off, smushing her face into his chest. “I don’t think he’d like this very much.” Her words are muffled and Sam is torn between exasperation and a thrill of excitement.

“Yeah I don’t think he would Ruth.” He manages to make it across the room to Sheila and hands Ruth off to her with little fanfare. “Make sure she uh, make sure she gets to bed okay, alright?” He makes a show of looking unconcerned, scratching his head as he turns away.

Sheila nods solemnly. “I won’t let anything happen to her.”

“Great, that’s good.” Sam exhales and sits down as Sheila takes off with Ruth in tow. “Fucking Vegas.” He drowns the rest of his drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> still don't know how to end these chapters but hey just gonna keep going with this, it can arguably fit within canon
> 
> would ruth get drunk? maybe? after what a shit day that was? and after fighting her attraction to sam all the time? who knows either way she let loose a little here
> 
> please let me know what you think and if you have any ideas for "missing" scenes between these two idiots


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cannot believe I did the gets drunk and hints at feelings bullshit but can’t undo it now! Moving on to the blackjack and dinner, I've been sitting on this for a few days and still not sure what to do with it so going to post what I have for now and hopefully finish the hot tub club in the next chapter.

Sam wasn’t sure if Ruth remembered their entire conversation from the opening night party. 

She hadn’t actively avoided him since the night but he also hadn’t seen her around as much as before. He debated chalking it up to the show being in full swing before deciding it was better to not dwell on it. 

Either way, nothing between them had changed. He knew she wasn’t that invested in her relationship with Russell but he also knew she wasn’t open to one with him. 

The girls were finally off for the week and Sam had already exhausted the little remaining creativity he had on his screenplay when they came stumbling in after a night out. 

It was a sorry sight, the lot of them traipsing through the lobby, heels in hand and faces caked with smudged makeup. 

Ruth, already sitting at the buffet looking perky and dressed in her usual casual and comfy get up, is the polar opposite. 

Sam makes his way over to the buffet, unable to resist looking back once or twice at her. She hasn’t seen him yet as she scribbles in her planner. 

Grabbing some coffee, he moves to join her and clears his throat. 

“Oh hey! Do you think the entrance follow spots are doing the trick?” Ruth cuts right to the point, touching him lightly on the chest as he leans over her. 

“They’re fine.”

She gives him an incredulous look as he sighs and takes a seat.

“Why are you working.”

“I’m just making some notes.” Sam rolls his eyes at her indignant tone. “I do little performance reports for myself every night after the show. Things that went well, things that need to be improved...”

“Uh-huh Ruth, it’s a day off, okay? The show is frozen.” He leans into her space smirking but she’s already throwing down her pen and lifting her hands in defeat. She sips her drink instead, smiling despite herself. 

He’s glad she’s not out every night going crazy like the others but it’s getting to be a little ridiculous.

“But I mean come on, this is- this is just sad.” He finishes. 

“Really? I’m sad?” Ruth teases, arching her brow and settling back into her chair with a smug grin. 

“Little bit.”

“What are you doing with your day off?” Sam’s in a good mood. He got some decent sleep, he had snuck in a workout, and he hadn’t been hitting the drugs or alcohol too hard the last few days. 

“Me? I got up early, I wrote a few pages, took a shower.” He starts earnestly, a little giddy with contentment before reining it in. “Now I'm just gonna you know, fuck off.” Sam allows himself to take a cigarette, tossing the rest of the box aside.

He manages to wrestle her planner away from her and get a bellhop to bring it to his room. 

“I’m just gonna you know stroll, _come on_.” He grumbles when she pauses to take another sip of her drink. He knows for a fact she’s on at least her second one of the morning and if she has anymore, he’ll have to hear her bitch about regretting it for the rest of the day. 

As they stroll through the casino, their arms brush against each other. Sam holds his hands behind his back to help fight the overwhelming urge to take her hand or touch the small of her back. 

Ruth continues to pry about his screenplay while they walk aimlessly and Sam feels uncharacteristically bashful as he skirts around her questioning. 

Despite his best efforts, they can’t seem to shake their flirtatious tones and he avoids staring at her too much, not wanting to escalate the situation any further. She's somehow mastered being able to walk forward while also gazing into his eyes. 

It’s fucking infuriating. He doesn’t want to think about how he tripped the other day when they went to get lunch. She had just been so animated and fucking pretty, it was hard not to stare. 

Instead he transfers his urge to gamble onto her, getting her set up at a blackjack table with a little persuading. 

“Have some fun.” He grouses, pulling out the chair as she argues with him. Christ, this was like when she told him she got anxious in group settings. Getting her to loosen up was like pulling teeth sometimes. 

Tossing a couple bills on the table, Sam stands behind her chair and leans over as he explains the rules. 

Ruth picks the game up quickly, even with her very unique choice of hand waving. He lets that quirk slide, especially since she touches his chest excitedly when she wins her first round. 

God, he has to stop living for these little moments and touches. It’s driving him crazy. He orders a drink to take the edge off it and adds one for her for good measure. He doesn’t want a repeat of the other night but she was so tightly wound, Sam figured she could use a little help relaxing. 

The rounds passed in a blur as Ruth got a little too invested in the gambling. They were entering hour 2 and while she was doing well, it had nothing to do with any skill or luck and much more to do with the fact that she was up against the old morning drunks who couldn’t count to 5, much less 21. 

“Sam!” She calls when he strays too far away, reaching blindly behind her for him. “You can’t leave! You’re my good luck charm!”

“You’ve got some shit luck then.”

“Oh- “ Ruth searches for a rebuttal. “Just- hush.”

“Jesus christ you sound like a grandmother.” Sam pauses to take out a cigarette and lights it, “Or a librarian.” He mutters.

“I’m just focused!” 

“Hmm I think I’d use the world competitive.”

They fall quiet when the table starts placing cards and bets again. Leaning over Ruth's shoulder, Sam goes to rests his hand on her but at the last second clasps the chair.

Shifting in her chair, Ruth peers up at him. 

“What?” He asks expectantly when she searches his face. 

“Nothing.”

“Alright weirdo.”

Ruth plays another hand and her good luck continues when she wins and she pulls more chips into her already massive pile. 

Rubbing her hands gleefully, Ruth beams. “I’m putting it all in.”

Sam immediately tells her no, already seeing them getting stuck there another 2 hours when she inevitably loses it and decides to win it all back. 

“But we just got here!” She argues, her voice drifting into the higher register that she adopts when she’s going to debate with him. Sam chuckles.

“What, are you kidding? We’ve been here two hours, Ruth.” He informs her. The time had flown for him too but he couldn’t deny his legs were a little stiff from standing. He had chosen to not sit, letting himself remain standing over her. 

It was all a little alpha male of him but oh well.

Ruth grabs his wrist and turns his arm to look at his watch. He lets her do it, twisting under her grasp, her small hands cradling his wrist and hand. It’s cute how surprised she is by the time and thankfully she gives in to his request to pack it in. Letting her take the bulk of the cut, they cash out. 

“There’s this little steak place I’ve been dying to try.” She gushes as they gather their belongings. “It’s at the other end of the casino.” 

“I like steak.” 

“Great, let's go there!” Ruth bounces a little bit as they walk, her curly hair flying when she grabs his wrist and pulls him along.

“Woah, woah, woah. What's the rush?” Sam laughs as she drags him with her. “It’s only-” She twists his arm up again and covers his watch. 

“No! We have to guess what time it is.”

“You looked at it like, what, 2 minutes ago?” 

“Well I already forgot what time it was so we’ll check again in a little bit to see how lost we get in this time warp.” She protests, eyes shining as she laughs at his expression. 

“Fine, I’ll play. Loser pays.” 

“I told you I’m paying, I owe you for the blackjack.”

“And here I thought you just wanted to reward me for being so patient, the hours I've spent with you. Supervising your gambling, listening to your notes, Ruth, honestly it’s overdue.” He quips. 

She doesn’t reply. A moment passes and Sam realizes they’re still touching. He tugs his wrist gently, reminding Ruth she's still holding on to him. 

Ruth doesn’t pull away like she’s been burnt, instead she lingers another moment, her fingers brushing his skin gently before finally drawing back and letting his hand fall between them.

He can’t quite read her expression, expecting the hard set of her jaw and avoidance that usually follows these moments between them. 

Instead she gazes openly at him and merely says, “Maybe it is.”

* * *

They finished the steaks a long time ago, the remains of their many dishes scattered around the table. 

When he first realized he was attracted to Ruth, he thought it was sexual or born out of proximity. Then he thought it was because he was desperate for attention and her blind need for praise and endless energy was what attracted him. That they wouldn’t ever really work out in the long run. That he was bad for her and she him.

Even when they had danced and spent the day with Justine and Sam had felt that little kernel of family, of love, of affection, he never quite shook the belief that they weren’t meant to be. That he could love her and she like him but any relationship between them would only end in tears. 

He knew he was older, that he had problems. God knows it wouldn’t be easy, fuck it wasn’t easy just being friends with Ruth. 

But staring at her, cozy in the booth, as she told him it was “the best day” and the conversation never seemed to die, he realized they had _ it_. Whatever that meant. 

He knew all of her flaws, she drove him crazy and she had seen him at his worst. They had both hurt each other and still they could be together for hours without issue. It wasn’t just today, they had done this countless times in the last few weeks while working on the show, or catching up over a meal. It just had never been this intimate or prolonged. 

He tells her about how happy he is lately, how he feels like he’s getting his life together. It’s not hard to read between the lines, that he’s never experienced anything like this because he’s never had someone like her with him. 

Hookers and drugs and all night raves pale in comparison to sitting in a little booth with Ruth and talking about whatever comes to mind. 

She had grabbed his wrist more times then he could count that night, giddy and flustered every time she checked the time. 

He finally gives her the watch, face softening as she puts it on gently and stares down at her wrist. It barely stays on, the heavy band sized for his much larger wrist. She runs her fingers over the engravings as they talk. 

The watch is a family heirloom and he’s not taken it off for a long time. It’s absurdly unique and he knows that if any of the girls see Ruth wearing it, it would raise too many questions. 

But Sam’s not sure if he wants to get her a new watch, although he knows he’s right, that it’s too obvious and that she’ll love some stupidly overpriced piece of junk if it has a good story to it. 

For now he’ll enjoy her wearing it and the way she lights up when he gives it to her and how her thumb strokes over his bare wrist when she thanks him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think and if you have any requests/suggestions for additional scenes. I've been debating doing how the other characters see their interactions, if anyone has any ideas for that!


End file.
